Men got mixed up and lost their units, sections lost their way in the great crowd of companies assembled.
Once Hawk loomed out of the darkness and a strong whiff of rum came with him... he disappeared again: “See you later, Sar'nt—lookin' after things—important—practically everythink——”
He was full of drink, and in his hurry to look after “things” (mostly bottles) he lost some of his own kit and my field-glasses. He worked hard at getting the equipment into the lighters, notwithstanding the fact that he was “three-parts canned.”
Every now and then he loomed up like some great khaki-clad gorilla, only to fade away again to the secret hiding-place of a bottle.
And so at last we got aboard. It was still a profound secret. No one knew whither we were going, or why we were leaving the desolation of Suvla Bay.
But every one was glad. Anything would be better than this barren waste of sand and flies and dead men.
That was the last we saw of the bay. A sheet of gray water, a moving mob on the slope of Lala Baba, the trailing smoke of the tug, and a pitch-black sky—and Hawk lurching round and swearing at the loss of his bottle and his kit.
An old sea-song was running in my mind:—
“But two men of her crew alive—
What put to sea with seventy-five!”
Only three months ago we had landed 25,000 strong; and now we numbered about 6000. A fearful loss—a smashed Division.